iDream of You
by twowritehands
Summary: They say that Freddie is pretty good in the sack. She'll believe it when she sees it. Well, he is willing to show her… Sam has a dream. Seddie on a plane.


Disclaimer: not ours, yo.

_Gibby was rocking a leather vest and no shirt. In front of him was a half-eaten stack of pancakes. They were the best thing Sam'd seen all night and it wasn't even night anymore; the sun was coming up. She'd been to bed lots of times, but never to sleep. She crossed the dingy diner with a weary sigh to the corner booth where Gibby was not sitting alone._

_"There's my girl," he said, giving her knee a squeeze. "How'd'ya do?"_

_She gave him a smoldering smile, "He'll be back."_

_"Excellent!" Gibby kissed her cheek._

_Across the table from them was Freddie. He was in a tight white t-shirt. His elbows, resting on either side of his eggs, emphasized his biceps, which strained against the sleeves of his shirt; the second best thing she'd seen all night. But he'd never know that._

_"You made a lot tonight, Sam, I'm proud of you." Gibby was saying. Freddie looked up as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. His dark eyes met hers and she gave him a smug smile._

_But Gibby continued and nodded toward Freddie. "You almost made as much as Fred did."_

_Freddie put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin, answering her smug look with one of his own. Sam was so surprised, her elbow slipped off the edge of the table. _

_Entirely too pleased with himself, Freddie put his hands behind his head and stretched until his back popped. He knew his biceps were displayed when he did this. He wagged his eyebrows at her._

_She narrowed her eyes at him. "You made more than me?"_

_"Of course he did," Gibby laughed, "he's the best at what he does."_

_Sam found it highly unlikely that Freddie was the best of anything that he did. Especially the this. Freddork Benson could never be the best gigalo. _

_"Yeah, right," she scoffed, but he looked her dead in the eye and raised an eyebrow. The confidence in those deep dark eyes alone put pictures of him pleasing the high-class housewives that he catered to in her mind. She blinked away images of his impressive biceps and strong, curved back as he moved among sheets, and gave him a look of utmost loathing._

_"Believe it, Sammy," Gibby said, pushing his pancakes in front of her for her to finish. "Word of him has gotten around. They're begging for him."_

_"Begging?" she repeated, seriously laughing at the thought. What she was hearing was so ridiculous she was forgetting about the awesome pancakes in front of her. It was _that_ stupid._

_Just then, a waitress arrived to refresh Gibby's coffee. "Oh, yeah," she said to Sam. Then, looking at Freddie, she purred, "He's soooo great. I love him."_

_"I love you, too, baby," he purred back. The waitress giggled and went back to work. He went back to his eggs. Sam picked up her fork and attacked the cakes in front of her. She barely tasted their fluffy goodness._

_As she ate, she became aware that everyone in the diner was talking about Freddie's talents in the bedroom just as the waitress had. They praised him in low purring tones which grew louder and louder. _

_That waitress was back, swooped in and kissed Freddie deeply._

_Sick of it, Sam stood and declared she was going home to get some sleep. Outside the diner, Freddie's hand closed around her elbow. She turned to look up into his dark eyes. He was smiling that boy-next-door smile. How he managed to still seem so pure was beyond her._

_"Sam, is anything wrong?" he asked. Before she could answer, she noticed that random women on the street winked as they passed Freddie, their eyes darting up and down his body. They smiled, gave him teasing little waves. A lot of them greeted him by name. He knew their names in return._

_"You're in for a treat with this one!" One of them said to Sam, pinching Freddie's bottom. Then suddenly all of them were backing that one up, saying again and again that he was the best. He was so good. Some of them were even screaming that they wanted him to have them right there and were generally behaving in a way that was weird without anyone touching them._

_Sam laughed. "This is so stupid!" she cried. "You're the biggest nub there ever was!"_

_Freddie fumed, "I am not!" he threw his arms out to indicate the world, "Listen to them, Sam! They love me! I really am THAT good!"_

_Sam scoffed. "I'll believe it when I see it."_

_He stepped close. "I can show you right now," he said lowly, his hands going around her waist. "You'll love me, Sam." Then his fingers brushed the hair from her ear and he whispered into it, "I make them all love me."_

_She decided to take him up on his offer—if only to be able to be the one voice on the planet declaring the truth about the nub. _

_..._

Freddie felt restricted in the cramped space of the plane. He hated feeling restricted. Some kid behind him was kicking his seat. The seat in front of him was far too close so he couldn't stretch out his legs. He was in the middle seat of the middle row in the plane, so he was the furthest from all windows.

Next to him in the right-side aisle seat, Carly was gripping the armrest between them so tightly her knuckles were white. In the left-side aisle seat, Sam was taking up his other chance at an arm rest with her elbow as she slept with her head balanced in her palm.

She was snoring softly every now and then. He could smell her hair—kiwi lime or something—as it fell over her shoulder and into his lap, clung to his college hoodie. He tried beating it all away, but it was everywhere. Since when had her hair gotten so _long_ anyway? And soft.

How far away could New Zealand be? Was it on another _planet_? He felt like he'd been in this seat, surrounded by all of these people, for days. But his discomfort was nothing to that of his friend.

Carly wasn't breathing. Freddie was pretty sure it was on purpose. Somewhere in her panicked brain she was thinking that she could make sure they didn't run out of oxygen in the plane by not breathing. Or maybe she was literally just too freaked out by the close spaces to remember to let out the big breath she'd pulled in.

As Carly sat with her lips pressed together, her hand on her heart and her face turning blue, Freddie tried to calm her in low tones. On Sam's other side, across the aisle from her was Gibby, his long legs making it impossible for the stranger in front of him to recline the seat into a more comfortable position. Guppy was in the window seat next to him and in all of his six years of age was playing wingman for Gibby, who was chatting up a giggling flight attendant who had to be twice his age, but who was very pretty.

He was telling her about the web show and that they were on their way to the on-location-filming of the newest Jack Peterson movie, The Rabbit, to do a special interview and tour with the director's daughter, who was a big fan of the show. They might even get a few minutes with the director himself.

"Oh my god!" the attendant gasped, "I love him! He is _so_ amazing!"

"He's the best at what he does," Gibby agreed. Carly exploded into hyperventilation in her panic attack. She clutched her chest and heaved for breath, trying her very best to remain calm, but failing miserably.

The plane hit sudden turbulence. The pilot came on the overhead to ask everyone to buckle up as they rode out this rough patch. The plane shook around them harder. Freddie nearly swallowed his tongue, Gibby lost interest in flirting with the attendant, and Carly shrieked, "I want to get off! I want to get off! I. WANT. TO. GET. OFF! GET ME OFF, FREDDIE! GET ME OFF, FREDDIE!"

Freddie could do nothing for Carly. This turbulence, which was making overhead compartments open, was freaking him out too much. He pressed himself into his seat and closed his eyes. People were gasping, swearing, praying, or crying as the plane shimmied and bucked.

In her sleep, Sam moaned.

Freddie's eyes snapped open. He looked to his left, at Sam. She was miraculously still asleep despite the rough flight and panic happening around her. He wasn't impressed by that—she'd once slept through a fire drill at school—but he was impressed by that moan. A guy never missed a moan like that. But he was convinced he must have imagined it.

Then she did it again.

Gibby's seat creaked as he leaned across the aisle, craning to see around her to Freddie. The other young man had his eyebrows up as high as they'd go. "Dude," he said, "Is she…?"

Both of them had forgotten about the scary turbulence still rattling the plane and Carly's shrill panic attack, which an attendant was now trying to handle in Freddie's place. Freddie and Gibby were staring at Sam, torn between laughing, saying the pledge of allegiance, or waking her up.

She had a smile on her lips. The plane shook again. She gasped, cried out. Now strangers, mostly men, were noticing her as well. She moaned.

"Miss?" a flight attendant called. The nearby mother of a small child had called the attention of proper authorities to the situation. "Miss? Wake her up, will you, sir?" she asked Freddie, but he didn't move. He just stared in mixed fascination and glee. Sam laughed in a way no one had ever heard before.

The plane bucked hard. She cried out, "Freddie!" and woke. Freddie's smile disappeared.

Gibby burst out laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. Carly was trying to repeat her at-home-in-my-bed mantra, having never knew anything was wrong other than that she was certainly going to die in this flying walnut. The turbulence was over. The people nearest them were craning around to get a look at the girl who'd just—Did she just? Yeah, I think so.

Sam blinked blurry eyes and noticed people looking at her. Gibby was laughing harder than she'd ever seen. Carly was frowning—her face all flushed like it always was after a freak out. Freddie was staring at Sam with his eyebrows up, his lips parted, and his eyes wide.

She recalled her dream—vividly—and made an educated guess as to why people where looking at her. And it didn't have anything to do with the awesome pancakes in the dream. Mortified, horrified, enraged, Sam did the only thing she could do.

She hit Freddie.

He screamed like a girl. The Flight Marshal arrived then and, surprisingly, he put her AND Freddie in cuffs. Evidently no one had proof that he hadn't somehow been a part of her mid-turbulence inappropriateness. They were being arrested for indecent exposure in public.

As the cop led them back to his seat in first class, Freddie grumbled under his breath. He held his arm stiffly to his side, still cringing in pain. He was under the impression that she'd planned the whole thing. She _wished_ she was that good. It was slightly flattering that he believed she could be so ingenious.

"_You_ hit _me_ and _I_ get arrested!" he hissed, "how is that fair?"

The Flight Marshal barked at them not to speak and sat them in their seats, cuffing them in place. When the policeman had taken his seat beside them, Sam glanced over at Freddie, feeling a blush burn her cheeks for the first time in years. To her horror, his dark eyes lifted to meet hers as she did so. He saw the shy glance, and the blush. Suddenly his dark expression of anger and pain lit up, smoothed out, as if he finally got something. He finally realized that none of this had been planned.

She sighed. Chiz. She wanted to die. She put her face in her hands. He blinked a few times, then—miraculously—just smiled. His head bobbed. He shrugged a shoulder, pushed an elbow into her side. "Hey," he said kindly. She looked up reluctantly. His smile was lopsided and made her stomach flip like a butterfly on the breeze, "at least we're in first class now." He jumped his eyebrows at her and stretched out his legs. "So thanks."

_AN: I just wanted to write something where Gibby was a Pimp Daddy. The rest of it was a perk_

**Be sure to read all the new fan fiction that will be posted in a MASS POSTING by authors in The Cabal on the weekend of June 11th! .net/s/7043903/1/An_invitation_from_The_Cabal **


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